


In Your Eyes

by Hi0ctane



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Meetings, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 12:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12481120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hi0ctane/pseuds/Hi0ctane
Summary: Since the first day of moving in, Stiles had never really seen the neighbours do anything. His father (who had apparently met some of them early, before work, and exchanged some pleasantries) told him that it was four of them: two girls and two guys, all siblings of one family, but that was about it. Sometimes Stiles thought he saw one of them exit the house, usually early, even before he headed to school himself; he could only hear voices, then, drifting up to his bedroom window, loud and usually cheerful, sometimes rowdy.“They’re lively,” his father said, with the indulgent smile of a man that raised a teenager himself on the back of macaroni and cheese and sometimes far too much hard liquor. Stiles preferred the term “They're really annoying”, but sure, lively should work for them, too.Or, five times Stiles got into trouble with his elusive neighbour D. Hale - and one time he really, really didn't.





	In Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaistrex (weishen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weishen/gifts).



> kaistrex, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. ♥ Your prompt gave me life. :D
> 
> Beta'ed by Joker, my partner in crime. ilu bro!

1.

The first time Stiles realised that there was a new neighbour is when a truck blocked the light to the living room window. 

“Aw, shoot,” he muttered, squinted in the sudden darkness and pawed around on the living room table in an exaggerated fashion. His father just huffed out a laugh, kicking the remote a little closer so that Stiles could turn down the volume of the TV show they were watching, listening to the voices outside. 

“Yeah, the new neighbours are here,” his Dad said with a small smile. “I thought you’d be happy, finally getting rid of Greenberg-“ 

“Greenberg was a health hazard for the entire street,” Stiles informed him before he leapt across the back of the couch, strolling towards the window. He could only see the offensive truck that was now blocking half their driveway, and the driver’s arm casually thrown out the window as he slowly drove backwards, trying to align the truck’s back with the paved walkway. There was a girl on the sidewalk, probably his age or a little older, carrying a messenger bag while heading towards the house. She looked pretty bored, and Stiles considered hopping out. Saying hello. 

“Give them some time to get their stuff out of the car at least, kiddo,” his father called over from the couch, and Stiles couldn't help hearing the smile in his voice. Of course he knew what he wanted to do. Sometimes he wondered if every sheriff was this omniscient or just his Dad.

He looked out of the window one last time and saw a man exit the back of the truck, his back to Stiles; he had mussed-up dark hair sticking up into every direction and carried two boxes in his arms already. Stiles returned to the TV, grumbling about the darkness, but decided to let it slide. Surely the relationship to their neighbours was going to improve soon. 

 

2\. 

 

The relationship to their neighbours didn't improve at first. In fact, it didn't seem to exist at all. 

Since the first day of moving in, Stiles had never really seen the neighbours do anything. His father (who had apparently met some of them early, before work, and exchanged some pleasantries) told him that it was four of them: two girls and two guys, all siblings of one family, but that was about it. Sometimes he thought he saw one of them exit the house, usually early, even before he headed to school himself; he could only hear voices, then, drifting up to his bedroom window, loud and usually cheerful, sometimes rowdy. At least one of them seems to go to college, because there’s a car that’s only around on the weekend. The others usually come back late, too, sometimes banging the front door shut or making a ruckus when taking out the trash. 

“They’re lively,” his father said, with the indulgent smile of a man that raised a teenager himself on the back of macaroni and cheese and sometimes far too much hard liquor. Stiles preferred the term “sometimes really annoying”, but sure, lively should work for them, too.

All in all they’re not the peaceful, quiet kind of neighbours Stiles would have hoped for in secrecy. He is fully aware that his father would laugh at that (“you’re seventeen, Stiles; you should be out there looking for your Soulmate on a party, chase girls or boys or whatever, not wish for quiet neighbours that don’t disturb your post-school or post-jerkoff-power-naps.”), but he wouldn’t mind a little peace and quiet in the neighbourhood. It was usually enough for him that he caused trouble wherever he went; no reason to have another group of four around that kept riling up the street.

Still, he decided to introduce himself, one night, and bought a little housewarming gift; a small envelope with a gift card to the hardware store, because seriously, a house of four siblings had to constantly need one thing or the other, and he didn’t feel like buying a potted plant for a collective of full strangers. He rang the doorbell – that said ‘D. Hale instead of a conglomerate of names – and waited, then rang again. There was music inside, so there had to be someone home. Loud music, too. 

He waited and frowned at that and was almost ready to head back inside when a boy his age opened the door, grinning up at him with what looked like half smugness and half honest cheer. “Hi there.” 

“Hi!” Stiles said, a little surprised but extending his hand. “I’m Stiles. Me and my dad live next door. I, uhm, I got you and your family this, as a housewarming gift.”

He had to yell, pretty much. The music WAS loud. 

“Oh wow, thank you!” the young man replied, taking the envelope and shaking his hand. “I’m Isaac. Do you want to come in? We’re currently painting the living room. Hey Laura, turn that down a notch!” 

And this was how Stiles was dragged inside of the Hale house, as he’d later call it. There was a smell of wet and fresh paint literally everywhere, furniture covered in white plastic sheets and rows and rows of still unpacked boxes. It was chaos, but it indeed looked very much alive. He was pretty sure if he and his Dad ever had to move, things would be at least this chaotic.

The music was turned down, and he met the family, then – Laura, the older sister who went to college and greeted him with a strong handshake, and Cora, the younger sibling he had seen on the first day, carrying her messenger bag. Cora would actually go to Beacon Hills High, too, and while she didn’t have the sunny disposition of her older sister, she seemed okay enough. 

The lanky teen that had opened the door was called Isaac, and “he’s adopted,” Laura almost immediately added. Stiles would have figured it without her addendum, too – Isaac really didn’t look like the two Hales, with his curly mess of hair and almost overly wide smile. Like he could barely believe that he was here, with them. 

There was no D. Hale, though, Stiles mind not so helpfully provided as he looked into Laura’s open and honest eyes. The first gaze between them had been quick and pretty much standard issue, like a handshake in itself – in a world where Soulmates found one another through eye contact, the quick affirmation of a shared look had become common courtesy. Stiles hadn’t expect the proverbial flash between them and hadn’t been disappointed, either, but his mind was drifting already.

“And then there’s my brother,” Laura supplemented while making a face, ripping him from his thoughts. “Who isn’t here right now, as you can see. Well, in fact, he IS here – as in inside the house – but …. He’s difficult, sometimes. So he’s painting the upstairs bathroom. Alone. Without company.” 

She spoke as if said brother could hear her. Stiles was amused at the thought; the House was built as a mirror to their own, and so he knew that the upstairs rooms were separated by several doors. No way anyone could catch what was spoken down here. 

“Well, I let you get back to the painting, then. Tell your brother I said hi, and I hope that we’re going to be great neighbours,” Stiles enthused with a wide smile before saying his goodbyes. Yeah, this went well enough.

It could be a start.

 

3\. 

 

The Hales were a loud family, but they weren’t unkind – especially not to each other. Stiles would sometimes see Laura on a Friday at his school, collecting Cora after the lessons were over or bringing Lunch to Isaac, who ended up being in the same classes as Stiles. On other days he would see the black Camaro that he had begun to associate with the Hales, driven by a dark-haired male that always wore a ridiculous pair of aviator shades. D. Hale, probably, the ominous brother, who pretty much always appeared to be bored and always had the windows rolled up, like he tried his very best not to get sucked into any way of human contact that wasn’t connected to a life-threatening need. 

As much as Stiles liked the rest of the little family, this guy never even introduced himself to Stiles, or anyone. His father swore up and down that he was a ‘good kid, probably’ and that he had met him during grocery shopping before, stuck in deep discussion about pizza flavours with Isaac, where he had introduced himself and had kept up the appearance of basic human contact – but Stiles had seen nothing of it, really. 

It was a little unnerving, but hey, he could deal. Talking to three of his four neighbours was already more than he had expected at first glance. He could abstain from dragging the fourth out of his very apparent solitary shell.

Speaking of a loud family, Stiles thought to himself as he pushed the back door open with his hip, balancing a basket of laundry in his arms. He could hear the tell-tale sounds of laughter in the backyard, together with the rhythmic pounding of a ball on the ground. Isaac was cursing and Cora was whooping in delight, and someone cheered. Basketball practice? Alright, now that was cute. He had thought Isaac would go for Lacrosse, like probably everyone in Beacon Hills at this point, but maybe not. Or it was Cora’s little delight. In any way, hearing them holler and toss the ball tugged his lips into a smile. 

Stiles turned his back to the hedge rows separating their two properties, setting the laundry basket down and began to put of the wet shirts on the line. He hummed to himself and almost began to zone out, lulled by the sounds of joy and amusement from next door when –

“Crap!”

“Ouch!” 

– the ball hit the back of his shoulders with gusto before rolling innocently across the grass. Stiles swayed and rubbed his shoulders almost immediately; shit, that would leave a bruise. 

“Oh my god I’m so sorry!” Cora’s voice came from behind the hedges. There was some sound, a grunt, and then her head appeared above the treelines, eyes wide. She had to sit on someone’s shoulder for that. Probably the ominous brother he never really saw. 

“It’s okay,” Stiles said around a wince, rubbing his shoulder. It wasn’t okay. Actually it hurt a great deal, and he was sure the bruise would have the size of Alaska later tonight, but Cora looked actually devastated at having hit him. Her eyes went all wide, even.

There was a quiet snicker from behind the bushes, in clearly not Isaac’s voice. 

“Seriously, are you okay? I really didn’t want to hit you,” Cora said, even as Stiles bent low to get the basketball, tossing it towards her easily. He winced at the movement but shot her a lopsided smile. 

“All fine, really. Won’t even leave a scar, I promise.” He forced himself to make his smile a little more convincing, despite the pain beginning to radiate outside from his shoulder, reminding him that yup, it had been a really good hit. Bullseye, almost. 

The chuckling got louder. Stiles frowned. 

“Oh, Cora? There’s one favour.”

“Yeah?” She sounded hopeful, if a little scared, and swayed on the shoulders of whoever was carrying her.

“….Please kick your brother for me.”

 

4\. 

 

Hitting the signal-horn again and again felt pretty good, Stiles had to admit to himself, but it didn’t fix the problem at hand. He groaned, head falling forward against the steering wheel, eyes falling shut.

The bloody Camaro was in his friggin driveway. His jeep clearly wasn’t. There was something seriously wrong with this order.

He honked again, lifting his head back up to squint outside towards the affronting vehicle. True, he couldn’t deny that the Camaro probably was the sexiest car he had ever seen, period, but it was not supposed to block his driveway. He knew by now that it belonged to D. Hale – who had never even given him his full name, okay, this was just getting ridiculous after all these weeks of literally living next door and seeing each other’s silhouette when they took out the trash at night? – and he also knew that Hale was nowhere to be seen. Stiles wondered if he should just drive real close, maybe scare the owner a little. Not exactly scratch the paint job but get super, super close to doing it. 

There’s the sound of a door slamming shut and footsteps coming closer, and Stiles looked up, following the sound with his eyes. He saw Hale jogging towards the car, ridiculous sunglasses back in place, basecap on his head, waving at him as if he wanted to say ‘calm down, I got this’. He really didn’t. He got literally nothing. 

Stiles was so angry, but this idiot asshole didn’t even look at him. He just slipped into the driver’s seat, started the car, and waited until Stiles had backed off just enough for him to squeeze through the gap, drive off into the sunset or wherever he was headed. 

Stiles groaned again, this time from nothing but clear, open frustration. He drove onto the driveway and decided that he would not talk to anyone for the rest of the day, period.

 

5\. 

 

Stiles was lying in the garden, lazily soaking up the rays of the late summer sun and wiggling his bare toes in pure, comfortable bliss. Lacrosse practice had been a killer today; after disturbing the peace during econ lesson (with a well-placed whoopee cushion, no less) Coach had made him and Scott run suicides until they had nearly passed out in the grass. His lungs had never burned like this, and Stiles was pretty sure he had just been seconds away from dying a gruesome death of overexertion and heat stroke… until he had dragged himself into the shower stalls. The cool water had been like a touch from an angel. 

After that the day had slowly become better, but still kept him fairly busy. There had been grocery shopping and a short trip to the police station to hand his dad the lunch he had left in the fridge when he had been called in for an emergency earlier, and then homework. And now, blissfully, he stretched out in the garden, feeling the warmth down into his bones and very core, relaxing every single fibre of his body – 

When a spray of ice-cold water hit him, and he surged up with a yelp and a curse that was decidedly not manly enough for his tastes. Stiles grabbed his sunglasses and very nearly ripped them off his head, sputtering and staring to the hedgerows separating their property from the Hale’s and – 

“Sorry,” the drawled out voice of ‘D. Hale’ floated towards him, separated by the thick lush green of the hedges, making the owner near invisible. Stiles heard the tell-tale sounds of a hose being used, water spraying and pouring out, wetting the plants that must have been set into the beds earlier. Go figure. This was just his shitty luck. 

He huffed, and then retreated inside. Time to play some video games instead. And get a towel. 

 

+1

 

All in all he had thought that the relationship to his neighbours had improved. Stiles liked the Hales fair enough – well, most of them, anyway – and he would greatly enjoy having a good relationship to them. There was a number of great things one could do if being friends with the people next door, like barbecues or movie nights or sitting each other’s pets when the others were on holiday. 

But sometimes these people drove him off the wall. Like today, when loud music came blasting from the living room, someone apparently playing Guitar Hero and pretty much missing every little note.

That’s it, Stiles thought angrily and headed for the door, manners momentarily buried below seething anger at being denied the opportunity to have some quiet quality time with, well, his hand. He’s willing to take a lot, but this was the end of the fucking road for him.

He rang the doorbell and knocked almost immediately, too, his fists pounding against the wood. He was close to shouting when the door finally ripped open and he stood face to face with D. Hale, who, for the first time ever, was not wearing those ridiculous glasses and looked straight into his eyes.

The flash is instantaneous: Stiles felt warm, then cold, and suddenly bright-hot all over. His pulse shot up and his eyes widened as he stared at the man opposite him, took in the dark hair, the hazel-green eyes, the stubble, the expression of anger that morphed into blindsided awe in the matter of only seconds. Stiles felt his blood rush through his body, felt his bones sing in a melody he had never heard before: He is it, he’s the one, he’s Yours.

And then, before he opened his mouth to speak, the man grabbed his shoulders and dragged him close and pushed him against the wall that still smelled of fresh paint and kissed him, kissed Stiles like he was drowning and like there was no tomorrow, like every air in the whole wide world was hidden in Stiles’ lungs this very moment, and Stiles’ soul swooned inside of his very core and he kissed back, chasing the rush of energy coursing through his systems and already committing the flecks of gold and green in the other’s eyes to memory.

“You,” Hale gasped as they separate, even if only a little; his face was flushed and his eyes were wide, and Stiles felt his heart miss a beat and then align with the drumming pattern of the other’s. “You,” he said again, and then kisses him once more. 

“Me,” Stiles laughed, outright laughed, and threw his arms around his neck. Somewhere inside the house they could both hear Isaac’s laughter, yelling something at Laura and slamming yet another door, but they didn't care enough to follow the line of sound. Instead they tumbled into the living room, all limbs and kisses and searing hands that have only waited for this day, this moment, the time where every little cell in Stiles told him that he found him, he is finally, ultimately whole.

**Author's Note:**

> (Written for the following prompt: "In a universe where you discover your soulmate when you first make eye contact with them, Derek and Stiles are neighbours who have never introduced themselves to each other. The walls are thin so they're always complaining to their friends about the noise the other makes but the most they've ever seen of each other is a glimpse of the back of their head as they're going inside their own apartments. How does their first meeting happen?")


End file.
